


Days in Venice

by EKmisao



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-18
Updated: 2011-05-18
Packaged: 2017-10-19 13:11:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/201211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EKmisao/pseuds/EKmisao
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The boss of Giglio Nero requests the services of the best man of Vongola, for a special negotiation in Venice. But does she have other reasons? Tired from a previous mission, will he survive this one?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Days in Venice

He rapidly packed. There wasn’t much to pack, and it all filled a small valise. He stuffed the bullets into hidden compartments. He then rushed to the train station, where he was to meet with her.

As soon as he had eliminated the last target, he had headed straight for headquarters, where they immediately gave another important job. He could not refuse. It was extra cash. He tightened the bandages over his torso, swore that he would never show that the knife stab still hurt, and headed off.

Giglio Nero was a close ally to his own family. They explicitly asked for Vongola’s best man to protect the head of their family on a trip. Giglio Nero needed to be discreet; they could not bring along their usual band of people, they could only send one other person with her. So they asked for the best man for the job.

What could he do, if among the alliance, the best man was he? Just the fact that they thought so much of him was enough to keep him going. He had already gone for two days living on good strong espresso, what was yet another day? He could sleep on the train.

He stopped behind a woman with cropped raven hair. She hid one of the symbols of her family: a long strand of hair in a stream through her back. She had tied it up and kept it in her felt cap.

“Scusi, signorina. I was just informed.” He tipped his fedora.

She turned to face him. Her eyes grew wide. She placed a hand over her gaping mouth. Then she took a deep breath, composed herself, and smiled warmly. She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his waist, her head resting over his shoulder. “I’m so glad it’s you.”

 

The scent of roses, the smoothness of her cotton dress, and the warmth of her body surrounded him. He wondered what he did to deserve an embrace. No one ever did that for him. He had no family, no real one, to give it to him. Her arms pressed on the wound to his left side, made it hurt. Furthermore, he grew aware of someone in the distance watching them intently.

“Someone is watching us,” he told her.

“I don’t care,” she said. She kept holding him.

At the corner of his eye, he saw the shadowy figure raise a small black box. “He has a camera on us,” he warned her.

“Let them keep a memory of this moment,” she said.

He did not know what to do, especially with his hands and arms. The young woman was his superior, the head of Giglio Nero, one of the most powerful people, male or female, in the alliance. He was not in the position to be in a non-professional relationship with her.

She released him and held one of his hands. She tugged. “Come, let’s get our tickets.”

“Where are we going?” he asked as they walked.

She did not answer him, simply placed money from her purse onto the ticketing office table. “Two, please, first class to Venezia.”

“Venezia!” Sicily was at the tip of the Boot; Venice was the little island at the top of the Boot!

“We talked about this, Renato, mi amore,” she crooned, “You said it would be wonderful.” She locked eyes with him. “You remember?”

There was no such conversation, but he played along. “Si, cara mia. Mi dispiace, I’m sorry. I forgot.” He took up her hand and kissed it, in what he hoped was a loving enough gesture while being polite.

The ticket officer thought nothing of it, and gave them their tickets after some moments. They headed to the overnight train, she still playing the part of the loving girl, clinging to his arm as they each brought their valises.

As soon as they closed the door of the sleeper car, as soon as they were safe from prying eyes, he faced her with a raised eyebrow. “ ‘Renato’?”

“I can call you something else,” she smiled sweetly, conspiratorially.

He sighed. The name did not bother him; the fact that he did not choose it, did. “Va bene, it’s alright, signorina…”

“Luce, if you please, Renato.”

“Why ‘Renato’, though?” he finally mustered enough nerve to ask.

“Because to me you are reborn,” she answered.

…………………………….

He was part of the last siege on headquarters in the mountain. Direct attack. When the left wing of the castle exploded, he was still there. Cavallone was too far away to be useful, Giglio Nero came too late. He was buried in rubble, in one piece, walked away dusty but unscathed when quiet finally descended. He could not blame the subordinates, though, for thinking he was in a million pieces.

 

The last job was messy. There was a short struggle. His team got to finish off the man, but they got a few hits. The target got a knife into him before his brains were blown out. That was just yesterday. People at headquarters just patched it up well. Nothing important was hit, but it hurt. Of course he would not let on how much it still hurt. At least he could rest a bit while in the train.

“I thought you were dead. It was the information that reached us,” she explained her earlier actions.

“It will take a lot to kill me. I’m cursed to stay alive,” he sourly replied.

Sometimes he wondered how anyone asked about him. None of the names he used were true. His official documents were all forged. Vongola never confirmed nor denied rumors about their hitman. The confusion could only help in hiding their best asset. He had been reported dead twenty times that he knew of, probably more times than that.

“Renato?”

She had to call a few times before he answered. He often –always--used code names, but this was the first time he got one without a briefing.

“Take off the fedora, Renato. You’re sweating.”

He had no intention of taking the hat off. He had to keep his eyes hidden, the identity hidden, as best he could. Anyone could remember a man in a fedora, and maybe he was confident of himself that way, but it would be difficult to give his description, for there were many who wore fedoras. They were alone in the first-class cabin she booked, but he was not taking any chances. “What is this thing you have to do in Venezia, signo--?”

“Luce, per favore.”

“Luce.” He tried to make the name pass naturally from his lips, but it was hard after years of holding it in reverence. She was confident, using her own name, not hiding under another while on a special job. “Why are we going to Venezia?”

She explained, in hushed tones.

Giglio Nero had the first option to supply olives and olive oil to several key hotels and restaurants in Venice. In exchange, the heads of those establishments would use local contacts, legal or otherwise, to procure choice weapons from Mediterranean sources. Simply to ensure the protection and safety of the products. But the restaurateurs and hotel managers wanted the head of the organization to personally negotiate for this, for quality assurance. Despite the misgivings of her advisory board, the boss of Giglio Nero agreed to the terms. Giglio Nero requested protection from Vongola, with the promise of an allotment in the weapons regularly received from the deal.

“Can’t they have settled for one of the board members, instead?” he asked.

“I wanted to see them myself. I want to make sure our people are not shortchanged by the deal,” she said.

“You should’ve brought more people. It’s an official transaction.” He unfolded the newspaper he bought.

“I don’t want to cause trouble.”

“You’re causing trouble with a setup like this,” he sighed, his face hidden by the business news.

“You think so?”

He lowered the newspaper. He reached for her hand and squeezed it, tightly. His jaw was clenched as he mumbled rapidly. “Signorina, if I were the one who needed to shoot you, it would be easier having just one other person to shoot.”

“Mi dispiace. I’ll remember the next time.”

He sincerely hoped there would be a next time. He would do everything in his power to make sure there would be a next time.

The shadows he noticed taking pictures still tailed them. He noticed the shadow whenever they stopped at any station. He did not notice anyone pointing long-barreled weapons at them, but he could not shake off the feeling that besides the photographer, they were watched by several people. Yet he did not want to burden her with the knowledge, if she could be spared.

…………………………….

She tried to get him to talk more about himself, as the train crossed towns and cities. There was so much that intrigued her about him, and the train ride was long enough for lengthy conversations. But he did not want to talk.

She first chatted about herself, funny anecdotes of her daily life at the office. She talked about some of her subordinates that she hoped he knew or met. He just nodded or grunted from within the open newspaper. She talked about the view outside, the rivers the train passed, the bridges the train used, the fields and forests the train came beside. He looked up from the newspaper for a moment, peered out the window, then continued reading the newspaper. When he finished that one, he peered out to the hallway and bought another one, and started reading again.

He did not ask to get off at any station. When she asked if she could go down to look around, he stood and followed her, without a word. He silently watched her immediate surroundings while she strolled through the gift shops.

Lunch and dinner on the train were also quiet events. They watched each other eat pomodoro and carbonara with some wine to wash it down.

She felt wariness in him, uneasiness. Did she intimidate him? Was he embarrassed to be with her? Whatever it was, something was somewhat wrong with him. He was indeed somewhat pale.

“Is something the matter, Renato?”

“Just worried about you, signo…I mean, Luce,” he said. “About the deal. There are too many things that could go wrong.”

“It will be alright, I guess,” she leaned on his shoulder. He smelled of freshly brewed coffee and gunpowder. Not tobacco, nor alcohol. Caffeine was his drug, guns was his trade. An odd combination, but the scent was not offensive. She felt secure in that combination, assured of the protection the combination made.

He squirmed as her head met his shoulder, but he did not move away. Whether because he wanted to keep up the act, or whether he needed to obey a superior, she was not sure, but it was enough.

“We’ll reach there in the morning,” she said with a yawn. It was now dark past the windows, rarely dotted with the lights of distant farms.

“Go sleep, signorina,” he said, disappearing in yet another newspaper.

But he seemed to be tired as well. He did say he just came from another mission. She saw the beads of sweat on his forehead, just beyond where the fedora ended. “Let’s take turns,” she said.

“I can’t ask that of my superior, and a woman,” he replied. “Let me do my job.”

“Are you sure?”

They both saw the conductor pass the hall outside the sleeper cabin, as well as several other people. He lowered the newspaper. “Si, cara mia.” His smile was brave, an attempt to be romantic. “Go sleep.”

“Grazie,” she smiled back, pulling down the bed.

She knew she could trust him, but she was not sure how much longer he could stay awake, how much longer he could keep working.

……………………

He frowned. The coffee, plain black, was warm, and a powdery instant. But he was tired, he did not feel up to arguing with the service staff, and he needed the caffeine more than he needed the coffee to be just right. He just needed to stay awake. Everything in him wanted to rest, and he could not, should not, not yet.

Now that she was asleep, he placed a hand over his left side and allowed himself to groan about how much the stab wound still hurt. He would never do it in her presence. It would be a sign of weakness, evidence that he was not capable enough to protect her. He would never let her see it.

He was being tasked to do the work normally distributed between three to four people: to guard the head of a family. He would prove that he deserved the honor, that he deserved the trust she gave him. Even if it killed him. He hoped it did not kill him, of course, but he felt like dropping dead at any moment. Maybe he just needed another cup.

Thankfully nothing out of the ordinary occurred during the night, and he got to rest while staying alert. The sun peeked through their cabin’s windows, and she stirred with it.

He tipped his hat to her. “Buongiorno. The conductor said we’d be at Venezia in an hour. Did you rest well?”

“So-so, as much as you can rest on a moving, rocking train,” she smiled at him. “You?”

“I will be alright…Luce,” he told her. That was only half-true, but he swore that he would not make her worry. “What is the itinerary?”

“We meet with the contact tomorrow, so today we can walk through the city as much as we like.”

He grit his teeth. A whole day of walking around. With a hurting left torso and a pulsing headache.

He prepared himself for the challenge when they stopped at a café for breakfast. “Doppio ristretto,” he told the waiter. A double espresso, on a fast brew. “And if the espresso isn’t to my satisfaction you will do it again.”

The waiter gulped.

“But what about your breakfast?” she asked.

“Whatever she’s having,” he told the waiter.

“Ciabatta and cheese,” she answered in a heartbeat. “And cappuccino.” Then she smiled at him again.

He would keep her smiling. He would never make her worry. He swore.

………………..

They tried their best to act like a couple on a romantic vacation. She enjoyed clinging to his arm, pointing to buildings old and new. He felt uneasy with her hands around his arm, but he tried to look as if he enjoyed it.

He had some experience in convincing a girl that he enjoyed a night out when he actually felt miserable. This was different. He did not want her thinking that he was lying to her. He simply did not know how to act or how to be when the boss of the allied family clung to his arm.

This was beside his main concern: he could not shake off the feeling of being watched. The person in the shadows with the camera had followed them to Venice. Probably the man was from the group that was going to negotiate, or it was a rival organization. He did not know enough to tell. That was yet another concern, one that he could not fix by reading the newspapers at every stop.

He realized too late that she had let go of his arm.

In the middle of the Piazza San Marco, some distance away from him, she was surrounded by flocks of pigeons, nodding as one and admiring her as she scattered breadcrumbs. Another flock of followers, he mused. She always seemed to gather people around her. Evidently she had the same power over birds. She laughed and talked to the pigeons as if they were old friends. She had forgotten caution, as she crouched among the pigeons and did not watch her back. She looked up and waved at him. “Renato!” He tapped his hat at her and chuckled back.

But it was then that he became aware of shadows with evil intent.

He gestured with his head. They had to go.

She understood, and said farewell to her feathered friends. The pigeons flew in all directions, creating a general confusion among the tourists, as he took up her hand and led her away.

“Shall we look at a few museums next?” she held his hand and kept pace with him, a small gesture he appreciated.

“It’s your call…ah…Luce.” He removed the fedora for a moment and swiped his damp forehead with his right sleeve.

“What about a gondola?”

“No, signorina,” he whispered urgently. “Being on the water will make us unable to escape a shooting. Besides, the water is dirty, so I’ve heard.”

“Ah. You’re so smart, aren’t you, mi amore,” she cooed, suddenly acting her part again, suddenly landing a peck on his cheek.

“L-Luce, what…what…”

But as she pulled back from the kiss, he saw her smile turn into a frown. “You seem warmer than usual. Are you alright? Do you want to sit down?”

The shadows still followed them. He last saw it at the corner of his left eye, and it was hidden behind a small building. His head pounded, but he had to give her an answer. “It’s just the warmth of this place, Luce, cara mia,” he kept his side of the act.

“If you say so, Renato.” She faced him and locked her eyes with his.

Her gaze did not scare him, it made him more resolute. “Si, Luce. I’ll be fine.”

She turned and looked around, found a group of tourists entering a Renaissance-period building. “Let’s try that museum, then.” She tugged at his arm and followed the line.

They stopped for lunch at a small café after a quick stroll through the classic-art and modern-art museums. He was grateful for the chance to rest his legs and get some wine, to help numb the pain in his side and his head. He knew he was warmer than he should be; he felt the sweat soaking his back and the brim of his fedora. He normally ran after a target who refused to die when that happened. Over the last few hours he had just been walking. He should not be sweating so much. But he swore not to complain and not to make her worried.

“Do you want to head to the hotel now, Renato?” she watched him with concern again.

“Not yet. It will be dangerous for you to stay in one place for a long period of time, with someone watching us so closely. They probably have plans to eliminate.”

“Me?”

“Or both of us.”

“Let’s go to the Rialto,” she leaned over and begged. “I want to bring home something nice.”

They could also get lost in the crowds mingling at Rialto bridge, where many small stalls sold their wares. His rational self agreed, but he needed another espresso. He was really tired.

“Just for an hour, then we go to the hotel. Will that be fine?”

He already ordered for the espresso. She was happy. Why should she have to worry about him? He would keep up with her, as far as he could, as well as he could.

They slowly visited each of the stalls on the bridge. She tried out pins and bracelets and necklaces, while his eyes darted left and right for the shadows that kept watching them. She admired little souvenir paintings of gondolas and buildings. She found a little hat store that sold straw fedoras, and asked if he wanted one. He said no, but let her buy him a cravat.

She kept asking his opinion on this trinket or that, but he always smiled and agreed to everything. He was not in the best condition to be thinking for other people, he sighed, which compromised his protection of her. But there was no one else.

Just a little bit more, he told himself. Just a little more. For her sake.

She was true to her word, and stopped haggling and buying after an hour. She came up to him and clung to his arm again. “You look really tired. Come, mi amore. Let’s go to the hotel.”

He agreed, although he was not sure what she saw in his face.

Finding the right way to the hotel took half an hour, and walking to the hotel took another half-hour. Thankfully their room—just one room for them both, as a couple – was ready and their baggage brought to it.

But he still took precautions. He entered first, pistol in hand, carefully inspecting doors, closets, the bathroom, and other blind spots. He even checked the windows and curtains, inside and outside the room.

“Paranoid hitman,” she chuckled.

“Just doing my job, signorina,” he answered matter-of-factly. He finished the inspection and sat on the sofa.

“Rest now, mi amore. You have done well.”

He agreed, but he could not possibly share a bed with the boss of Giglio Nero. “The sofa will be fine, signorina…”

“Luce, per favore. And take the bed. I still need to make a few calls and some wires.”

He felt the weariness all over, but she was still a boss, and it was not his place to sleep on a bed for her…

“Renato, mi amore. Come.”

She held his hand, and locked her gaze at his eyes. She gazed, commanding and pleading, with eyes he could only obey.

She gently led him to the bedroom, and he found his legs drifting under her spell. His brain kept screaming at him to stay alert, to stay focused, to always be aware of this woman, to not fall to her spell…Yet his body kept following her to the bed, sat down where she said. He still had his clothes on, but was too tired to think further into it. She removed the fedora, loosened the tie, and loosened the first button of the shirt. She placed her hands on his shoulders.

“Sleep, mi amore, sleep.”

He closed his eyes and obeyed.

………………………………….

He collapsed onto the bed, unconscious, completely asleep. Obviously more exhausted than he was letting on. She reached out for his hair, and grazed his forehead. It was hot to the touch. She sighed and wondered how long he forced himself to keep moving for her sake.

He winced. His right arm lifted and reached for his left side. He winced again.

She gently lifted the arm away and felt his torso, sensing the lump there.

She took a deep breath and made the sign of the cross. “May God and Vongola forgive me for what I am about to do.” She looked down at him again. “May he forgive me.”

She kneeled over him and slowly unbuttoned the vest, then the white shirt. He groaned in his sleep, but did not resist. Her eyes rested for a moment at how thin he was, yet how tight his chest was, like a well-tuned guitar’s strings were ready to play. Her hands rested on that chest once or twice, and she felt the sweat and the unnatural warmth.

Finally she saw it, the gauze and plaster at his left side, just under the ribs. The gauze was half-soaked red, ready to seep through his crisp white shirt. It was tinged with yellow and brown. It clung well on him, too well. Men, indeed, she sighed. When was the dressing last changed on that wound? No wonder he was feverish.

She gave room service a list of things she would pay for them to get: new gauze, new plaster, antiseptic, fever medicine, ice, some clean cloths. She did not risk calling for a doctor, when asked. Doctors may be connected to powerful families with branches in many regions. Not yet, not while she could handle it, not until he desperately needed it.

Even if she was the head of a large branch, she was not above manual labor. Sometimes it was needed to keep secrets. Secrets such as this one, that she was far away from help, and her only protection needed protection himself.

She found a basin. She went to the bathroom and filled it with warm water. With gentle hands and water she loosened and freed the dressings on his wound. She found a stab wound there, missing important organs, but rather deep. It was healing, but the dressing desperately needed changing.

Room service arrived around the time she was done. She went to work cleaning the wound, and placing new gauze over it.

He slept on, feeling nothing. That worried her, for she had probably received the same training he had. She could only sleep well when other people were awake for her sake, and even then she had to be wary. To be fully asleep was to be fully vulnerable. The best man within the alliance was fully vulnerable.

 

“Please be well, Renato. I have no one but you right now,” she whispered, as she loosened the sweat-soaked shirt off his back. She washed the basin, filled it with water, placed ice into the basin. She soaked a washcloth into the cool water and placed it over his forehead. “Please be well, mi amore.”

She worked into the night, replacing the washcloth every hour. And as the first light of dawn began to peek through the windows, she finally admitted defeat. She crept up to the bed beside him. She held his hand to her cheek, and closed her eyes, whispering prayers of safety, protection, and deliverance from evil.

………………………………………………

He died. He was dead. He slept like the dead. A highly compromising situation in his line of work.

He immediately sat up. He felt for his pistol, did not find it on his person, searched quickly for it, found it in the first drawer of the nightstand. He drew out the pistol to survey the room. It was noon, by his reckoning. He cursed that the sun was up and he was not. He groaned to find the pistol lighter than it should be, all out of bullets. He snarled to find the room swimming all around him. He panicked that she was not anywhere in the room. He threw off the sheets and got out of bed.

Even when asleep he was aware of his surroundings. He was keenly aware of sudden changes, even subtle changes. And when he had to move, he could immediately do so. This was different. He lost all knowledge and feeling of the world. He could not remember the interval from when he closed my eyes and when he opened them just now. To others that is a refreshing sleep, but to him that was dangerous. To not know is to be killed.

The door opened and he pointed the pistol at it, ready to grab at whoever appeared. He was greeted by the scent of roses.

“Oh, you’re up.” She smiled. She surveyed him again, stopping for a long moment at the chest, stopping much longer at the face. “You’re still much too pale, though.”

He looked down at himself, standing with a bare chest before her, the wounds to his left side tended. “Why didn’t you wake me!” he snarled, boss woman or not. It would be dangerous if she were compromised.

“Because you needed to rest. You were running a fever.”

Fever? What fever? Even then! The woman did not understand the point. “I need to do my job!”

“Stop being so paranoid about your job, will you.”

“Being paranoid is what makes me good at my job.”

“Being paranoid makes you go without sleep for days,” she gently said. “It is not right, Renato, mi amore.”

“You were compromised for one whole day!”

She smiled warmly. “Renato, mi amore. You forget. I am Giglio Nero.”

He sighed. He did forget. She came from a long line of strong women.

“Some food and some medicine inside you, then you rest.”

“But, signorina…”

“Luce, if you please, Renato.”

“But Luce, signorina, the negotiations!”

“Not when my associate is indisposed. My decision is final.”

He growled. He kept growling while she led him back to bed and gave him lunch. He snarled as she made him take medicine to lower the fever. “Stop calling me your love. You don’t mean it,” he grumbled.

“Oh, but I do mean it,” she said.

His jaw slackened. He stared at her for many moments, but the warm smile on her face did not leave. He looked away first. “Don’t, signorina. Not me.”

“But, Renato…”

“I’m nobody from nowhere. A mongrel plucked from the streets. You have no future with me.”

“That does not matter.”

“It does to the alliance.”

“It does not.”

“I guarantee that I will cheat on you.”

“Signore, I’m in the mafia, I know these things.”

“You don’t even know my name.”

“So tell me.”

“No, signorina.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t have one.” He stared at the carpet.

“But…”

“Giuseppe, Giancarlo, Pedro, Franco, Tomaso…many others. I’ve used them all. I’m just the man in the fedora, signorina. I’m nobody.”

“You are Renato.”

“You just gave me that name.” He had to admit, though, that this was the first time he used it, in a life with names he replaced more often than his hats.

“You’ll use it from now on. Even when you live another life.”

“Please stop, signorina. I’m getting a headache.”

Her eyes suddenly shifted to the right, and her face tightened. He suddenly sensed an error in the air.

“DOWN, LUCE!”

She was the one who pulled him to the floor from the bed. “Speak for yourself, Renato. Your reflexes are still slow.”

They both heard the whizzing of silenced bullets, saw the flight of bed stuffing. He cupped her head under his arm and shielded her with his bare back. Pling-pling-pling-pling-zoom-whizz-pling-pling.

He had no words for that besides “Grazie, signorina.”

“Likewise, mi amore.”

He groaned as he retrieved his pistol. “We have to get out of here.”

“Can you?” she asked, concerned.

“Let me do my job,” he declared.

She laughed, much to his annoyance. “Alright. Tell me what to do.”

…………………………….

They checked out of the hotel, as quietly as they could manage. They then disappeared into the crowds walking the streets, losing the crowd at the nearest dress shop.

He emerged from the shop wearing tinted glasses, another long-sleeved shirt, a dark vest that hid his pistol, dark trousers, his leather shoes, and a brown fedora. He smoothed out and hid his unruly hair. He could have changed completely into a different person, if he wanted, but restrained himself. He did not want to be recognized by others, yet he still wanted to be recognized by her.

She emerged from the dressing rooms like a dream. A cotton blouse that revealed the gentle curves of her figure, a flowing skirt that reached to her knees, a cloche cap that both hid and emphasized her hair. In her own way, she was beautiful.

In another life, in different circumstances, maybe he would have tried to win her hand. She was that kind of woman. She did not have the appeal that many other women had, the women he took to bed. She did not immediately make you look at her. But when she did, it was impossible to remove your gaze.

She came up and hooked her arm to his. “You look good, mi amore.”

He had to play along, and gave his best impersonation of a romantic lover. “I cannot compare to you, cara mia,” he crooned and kissed her hand.

She giggled, like any other girl. “I bet you do that to some other girl somewhere.”

Actually, he did, to several, but there was no way he would tell her that. He wished she did not try to act the part so much. It was strange, and annoying. He was in no mood to have any kind of feelings at the moment. His head still pounded. He put a hand up to it.

“Will you be alright, Renato?” she asked as she looked up at him. It was not an act.

“I just need fresh air, cara mia,” he maintained the act and crooned at her. “Although you’re quite the breath of fresh air already.”

“Do you need to sit down?”

“We need to get out of here and see more of this beautiful place,” he crooned but glared at her.

“Whatever you think is best, mi amore,” she smiled.

“Stop with the ‘mi amore’ already,” he muttered under his breath.

As the purchases were paid for, he led the way out of the store and into the bustling avenue.

As soon as they stepped back onto the street, she wrapped her arms around his neck and held on to him. It was both delicate and strong.

She whispered into his left ear. “You don’t have to force yourself. I’ll think of something…”

His head still hurt, he had not had coffee yet, his legs still felt weak, he sweated under the new cotton shirt. How much of his unease did she know, did she suspect? She inherently had a skill he had seen in his own boss: a keenness for others, an awareness of what might happen. He wanted to go back to bed, but he had a job to do. By God, by all the saints, and by Vongola he swore he would do his job. “Just tell me where we have to go, Luce,” he whispered back.

“Very well. The Piazza del Rio at the Hotel Venezia. When the church bells chime.”

Six o’clock. It was both preposterous and reasonable a time. There were plenty of people mingling about to confuse. There were also many possible witnesses if anything went wrong.

The sun had already begun its slow descent. They had still been in the hotel past noon, had left it early afternoon when the hit occurred. At the pace they were moving, slower than his usual, a pace she allowed him to use, they would just barely make it to the hotel, at the far end of the small island.

They weaved through the crowds, went against the current of tourists heading to stores and café’s. His eyes, hidden under his tinted glasses and his fedora, darted through the crowds, the shops, and the windows. He observed for movement and expressions the average tourist did not have. The movement and face he was rather sure he had himself, even if he tried to blend and weave. They were on several men. They were faces that followed them, lost them for a few minutes then found them again.

“Don’t slow down, Luce.” He was still getting used to calling her by her name, without polite titles. “Don’t make them notice.”

“Don’t rush, Renato,” she warned back, clinging to him, placing an arm around his back. It was supposed to be a romantic gesture, but he knew better; he could feel the gentle support the arm and the rest of her body gave him.

“I should be the one doing this for you…”

“We all need help sometimes, mi amore.”

“Relying on others can kill you.”

“It won’t, if it’s the right person,” she smiled and led him on.

Two men could not be lost. He suddenly turned at an alley. He freed himself from her support, and firmly held her hand. “Run, signorina.” With his other hand, he readied his pistol.

Looking left and right, up and down, sideways, he ran through the alleys, intersecting the main routes, sometimes taking them. He ducked through low windows, swerved through boxes of fruit, jostled through people. Always he looked behind him, watched if she kept up, made sure that he firmly held her hand.

The two men were still following. Both were in dark suits. They did not even bother to make themselves less suspicious. But in a region familiar to the type, to a whole country that knew the organization in general, none took notice, or none dared to notice.

The stones on the streets blended into each other. All the streets and alleys looked the same. He could not remember the streets he had taken, would not be able to retrace his steps if he needed to. But he had to keep moving. He needed to protect her.

“Left.”

“What?”

“Left, Renato. We’re almost there. And it’s a blind alley.”

He turned to the left without a word. He squeezed the hand he held and pressed on.

“Right.”

He obeyed, half-blankly. He still watched if they were followed, but he was no longer sure whom he was watching out for.

“Go straight. We’ll reach the back door of the hotel shortly.”

“Si, signorina.”

“Take out the pistol.”

“What?”

“Above us. To the right. It’s one of them. Aim.”

Despite his pounding head, he looked up and rightward. An open window had a dark shadow with a long dark piece of metal tubing sticking out. A lousy hitman, he mused. “Where’s the other man?”

She paused and took a sideglance. “Behind us. Ground level.”

“You’ll make a good hitman yet, signorina,” he chuckled weakly as he aimed.

Two quick shots.

The man at the open window toppled backward, a bullet at his forehead. But the man behind them was moving.

“The aim was a bit off. You hit his shoulder,” she told him.

“He’s coming out?” he asked and reloaded.

“Yes.”

“Good.”

Stupid mistake. The accomplice was easier to hit. He fired two shots behind him. The other man toppled.

None of the other people on the street knew who fired those shots.

“Anyone else, signorina?” He was not sure what he was looking at. He had a clear view of everything, but he found it hard to think through what he saw. He spun as he kept his pistol.

“That’s it. Let’s go.” She clung to him again, supported his back, and allowed him to lean on her.

He allowed her to drag her up some steps, up the back entrance of a building.

They excused themselves and apologized as they walked through a crowded kitchen and a busy house cleaning staff room.

They emerged from the crampness of the employee sections and soon found themselves in the modest-sized café of a modest-sized hotel. The main columns had its wallpaper peeling in some places. The upholstery on the oak chairs faded from years of use. The shelves of liquor and coffee came from a time gone by and remembered fondly.

At the far end of the small café were seated a man and woman. The man was in a stiff dark suit. He was balding and rounding, shaking and sweating. The woman was a raven, from the hair tied back high over her head, to her straight nose, to her confident stare.

They both knew the woman. And the woman knew them both. “Ah. Fedora-cino,” she greeted the young man with a smirk.

He regained his composure first, and tipped his hat. The woman was Daniela, eighth-generation head of his family. He promptly positioned himself behind her.

“It is good of you to come, Daniela,” Luce reached over and they kissed cheek to cheek, as tradition dictated.

“Indeed. And has Fedora-cino been a gentleman?”

“Too much the gentleman,” Luce smiled. “It is a pity.”

The gentleman in question glared at both women.

Daniela offered the empty seat beside her, but Luce clenched a fist by her side and remained standing. “No deal.” Her face was steel as she faced the balding man. “There will be no deal.”

The young man in the fedora hmphed in agreement. He placed a hand inside his vest, where he hid his pistol.

Daniela nodded. “I already told the man, half an hour ago. He was merely, shall we say, obliged to stay until you arrived. But, of course, it’s your negotiation, and you get the final word.”

“My word is indeed final,” Luce said. “No deal. You sent those men to kill us on the pretence that it was done by your rivals. If successful, you will forcibly take our property and our business.”

The balding man quaked, his eyes shifting between the anger of the ladies and the hand inside the fedora’d man’s vest.

“Tell your cowardly boss to come back to us when he has a better offer. Until then, we will survive without you, and will conduct our business with others. You will not threaten the people we will support, or you will suffer consequences from the Sicilian branch of the organization. All the allied families of our branch will do this. Now go, before I give orders to shoot,” Luce concluded, nodding to the Vongola hitman.

“With our pleasure if you do give the order, Giglio Nero,” Daniela smiled with venom, also nodding to the hitman.

The hitman dutifully took out the pistol from his vest, for the guest to see. He cocked it, ready to shoot. The balding man stood in a hurry, overturning his heavy chair, and ran for the door, as the ladies laughed.

The hitman replaced the safety on the pistol and sat down with them.

“Espresso, as usual?” Daniela asked him.

He shook his head. He hid his face under the hat, crossed his arms, and closed his eyes.

Then he fell forward onto the table.

“Renato!”

………………………….

He had reached his limit then, and could give no more. A part of him calmed considerably when he saw his boss. He was no longer alone in protecting her.

He woke up knowing only that he dropped as dead before Daniela and Luce as the sun began to set. Now he was no longer at the café, but on a bed, the sun setting past the hotel room window.

“You slept like a rock, mi amore,” a gentle voice spoke beside him.

“Do rocks even live?” he mumbled, closing his eyes again.

“Exactly my point.” She stroked his hair.

“Are you alright? Are you safe?” he asked. “How long has it been?”

“Just this whole day.”

“Too long…” He slowly sat up. His left side did not hurt so much anymore. It did have new dressing. “The boss?”

“In the next room. She has people surrounding the rooms and the building, don’t worry.”

He struggled to get out of bed, tried to stand. “I have to make a report…”

“That can wait.” She took up his hand, and held him back. “I have a confession to make.”

“Do I look like a priest to you?” he protested.

“Not that kind of confession. Renato…I…ah…I set you up.”

The whole mission was a setup? “Please explain, signorina.”

“There really was supposed to be a negotiation here. But it was my idea to take only one person, the best man within the alliance. I knew it was you. I wanted to know what it would be like, to be with you.”

The mission…the mission was a long date? “This is crazy, signorina…”

“It had been decided some time back, before the siege on your headquarters. So when the news came that you were in the left wing when it exploded…I…I…did not know how to feel…”

He looked down in panic at her, sniffling before him. “Signorina, this is insane!” He could not help saying it.

“But you showed up at the train station, and it was really you. I was happy.”

“Signorina, I told you!” he protested again. “Not me, signorina, not me. You will regret it if you continue with this…this…this delusion!”

She smiled and shook her head.

“Luce! You’re a queen. I’m a chess piece! Third pawn to the right!”

“That’s alright.”

“Think it over, Luce, signorina!”

“I have.”

He held his head and groaned. There was no use talking a Giglio Nero woman out of a decision. “Why, Luce?”

She stepped forward, closer to him. “Because you are you. No other reason.”

There was no use in trying to make these Giglio Nero women talk sense, either. He groaned again.

But he had to admit that he enjoyed her company, even if he was uneasy about it. She was bright and lively, in the intelligent sort of way. He did not get bored seeing her face; there were aspects of it that always made him look. She was capable, not a helpless princess who always needed saving. In a word, she was interesting. He wanted to find out more. He wanted to know her more, and know her completely.

“Paris.”

“What?”

“Someday, we’ll do this in Paris. We’ll have a picture, too. We’ll go there, be alone together, away from all our concerns. I’ll embrace you on the bridge over the Seine, while we look at the Eiffel tower far away. And we won’t care if anyone and everyone sees us. Someday.”

He wished for it, too. “Si…mi amore. Someday.”

**Author's Note:**

> 2014 -- Some nice new incredible artwork from the awesome runesque (thank you so very much!), [over here](http://runesque.wordpress.com/2014/05/04/aspettami/). 
> 
> Created for KHRminibang 2010.  
> Version with pictures from highskyfighter [here](http://ekfics.dreamwidth.org/3538.html). 
> 
> When you input ‘reborn’ onto Google Translate, you get ‘rinato’. Indeed earlier versions of this story had this spelling. But this variant is often used as a surname rather than as a first name. Spelled as ‘Renato’, it is a pretty common first name, and does mean ‘reborn’, more specifically, ‘born again’, as in the spiritual sense rather than the reincarnation sense used in the series. Incidentally it also means ‘well-advised ruler’. I am likely not the first fanfic writer to use this, but thank you for indulging me.  
> http://www.i-am-pregnant.com/names/boys/Renato  
> http://www.babynamespedia.com/meaning/Renato/m  
> The concept comes from this interesting thread on Mangahelpers: http://mangahelpers.com/forum/showthread.php?t=56570


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